To Feel the Change
by Grady the Asha'man
Summary: The Dragonborn just came back from Solstheim, from Apocrypha, from his worst nightmare. However, he won't discuss what took place on the island. Can our favorite housecarl drag the truth from this demigod? A short little preview/introduction to this story. I don't write very much, sorry if it shows. Enjoy?


To Feel the Change

Dovahkiin was dying, he could feel it. The darkness was surrounding him, closing in. Tentacles and eyes, no escape. No escape. His vast reserves of magicka were almost depleted, his stamina...well, he diffidently wouldn't be winning any medals anytime soon.

There was only one thing he could do, but damn if doing it wasn't going to hurt. Orange eyes flashed to the ground, then back to the darkness. He raised his hands, preparing the magicka for a rather large spell, Fire Storm to be specific. Hands moved around in an effort to put as much magicka as possible into the spell. He was now the only thing holding the storm back from exploding.

Then, he did the one thing that Tolfdir repeatedly pounded into his head _not_ to do. He disconnected his magicka from the spell. Normally, this would simply cancel the spell, but with Fire Storm being a master level spell with a lot of magick and chanting put into it, this was not the case. Without the protective layer of his magicka over the spell, it was now as deadly to him as it was to any other opponent.

A large fiery ball of death detonated in front of him, tearing away his flesh and forcing the Last Dragonborn to scream the name of the very man responsible for the situation.

"MIRAAK!"

Dovahkiin shot up in his bed, frantically looking around, Chain Lightning ready in his hands. A shadow passed into his view. He was ready to release his potent magic, until he heard a concerned cry of "My Thane!"

"Lydia?"

"Yes, my Thane."

Lydia. He wasn't in Morrowind, he wasn't in Solstheim, he wasn't in Apocrypha. Thank Akatosh. It was a dream, no, a nightmare. A nightmare. Yes. That was all, nothing more, he was in Breezehome.

"I didn't wake Sofie, did I?"

"No, my Thane, but I have to ask -"

"Good, good. Then we can both just go back to sleep," the Altmer said before a question struck him.

"My Thane, you know I hate it when you -"

"Lydia, I have to ask you something."

The housecarl glared, but went along nonetheless. "What is it, my Thane?"

"What do you think of me being Dovahkiin? I'm a high elf, an Altmer, am I worthy of the Nordic legend? Do I deserve my title of Ysmir, of Dragonborn?"

By the time his speech was over, the Altmer's face grew dark and sad, he was looking in the distance instead of his housecarl's face.

"My thane, I -" Dovahkiin's face grew angry and he immediately yelled at Lydia.

"Stop looking at me as the Thane, as the Dragonborn, look at me as a person, damnit! Say my name, not my title!"

Lydia stared, and her gaze softened. "Aram, you are a great person, the best I know. You might not realize this, but you are my world. Little Sofie looks up to you as if you really were her father. You don't usually bring me on your adventures, but you still make my life more exciting. You're the brother that I probably wouldn't normally want."

Dovahkiin's mood brightened.

" You wouldn't normally want me as a brother?" he asked jokingly.

"Well, Aram, you're a high elf, a prodigious mage, you take forever in the bathroom, and you hate cabbage stew. It's outrageous."

"So, what you're telling me is that you're racist, a brain-dead warrior, lack personal hygiene, and have terrible taste in food. Why do I keep you in my house again?"

Lydia smiled, before promptly saying that he couldn't live without her and then leaving the room before uttering a, "Good night, Aram." Through the smiles and jokes, however, she could still see that he was avoiding her questions. He was hiding something.

Aram laid back down on his mattress, which was made of wool and furs, not tentacles and eyes, and stared at the ceiling. He sighed in relief. Another day where he wouldn't have to talk about Solstheim, about Miraak, about Apocrypha. The scar ruining his almost perfect elven features started tingling. One day, he would slip, and then the truth would flow out. He didn't know if he would be able to, or desire to, stop it.


End file.
